


A Shot in the Arm

by AgateHearts



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Medical, Needles, quiet moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 07:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgateHearts/pseuds/AgateHearts
Summary: Some pain passes quickly. Some pain doesn't. With both, it's best not to be alone.





	A Shot in the Arm

Baze gritted his teeth as the needle sank into his arm, but he didn’t make a noise. The doctor depressed the syringe steadily and patiently, then pressed down with a clean dab of cloth over the injection site while smoothly withdrawing the needle. The stinging pain lingered but barely a drop of blood slipped from beneath the skin at the doctor’s skillful motions.  
  
“There, acolyte Malbus. Just two left.” Dr. Jaariis took Baze’s hand and set it firmly over the puncture wound, pressing it down. “Hold there. It should stop bleeding momentarily.” The Lanai doctor nodded to him cordially, her eyes clear and her blubbery lips pressed together with professional pride. The wrinkles around her eyes settled with satisfaction as she moved sturdily to where the other syringes lay, waiting for other acolytes to receive their protective shots.  
  
Baze slid off the elevated exam table and nodded respectfully to her, his hand still pressed over the skin where the doctor had set it. “Thank you, Dr. Jaariis.”  
  
The doctor’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Such a polite human you are. Thanking me for a shot in the arm? Ha.” She jerked her head. “Send the next acolyte in, Malbus. I will see you again in two planetcycles.”  
  
Baze slipped out of the room quietly, nodding to Ailia Tuu’rk where she stood waiting. The togruta squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes as she stepped forward into the room Baze had just left. Other acolytes were scattered in twos and threes in the waiting chamber; Baze chose to avoid them all, for now, rather seeking the higher levels and an exit out onto the structure of the temple itself.  
  
Day was shading into night; NaJedha was overhead, huge and pink and vibrant in the last rays of the setting sun. Soon its curve would block out the light and obliterate a vast arc of stars, bringing heavier darkness than usual. Baze craved it, craved the distance, the dark, the isolation. He climbed the far eastern stair, wind whipping sand at his cheeks in a last fit of pique at the close of day, rubbing harshly against his bare arms and legs. It faded only when he settled stiffly into a niche high above the city, looking down at the blooming lights that grew as darkness swept over the landscape.  
  
Baze rubbed his arm, slow circles marking a painful circuit around the vaccination point. His eyebrows lowered and he glared down at the buildings spread in layered tiers below, anger roiling strangely in his stomach, mixed with something else he struggled to put a name to.  
  
“You're skipping dinner? It _must_ be something serious.”  
  
Baze startled at the snarky greeting, then huffed out a breath and turned back to his view. Whipcord-thin and smirking, Chirrut sat next to him, heels drumming carelessly against the stone as he continued, his voice seeming to weigh what he said. “You must have lost your favorite hair tie. No? Then, you got thrown by your rival. No? Hm, then it must be that you’re forbidden access to the archives! No? Well then surely it must be that you braided your hair backwards, today.” Chirrut’s voice took on a sympathetic tone. “Nothing else could be so tragic.”  
  
Baze swatted suddenly at his friend, just clipping his shoulder as he ducked, chortling, then choked on his own laugh before finally throwing his head back and letting out the burst of mirth. He lowered his chin to his chest and blew out a sigh. “You take all the power out of brooding, you know.”  
  
“I know.” Chirrut’s voice was far too cheerful, and Baze was tempted to smack him again, but refrained and sighed instead, lapsing into silence. Chirrut sat in peaceful quiet with him for a while as Baze felt the darkness crowd closer and the lights gleam brighter for the contrast. He was startled out of his solitary thoughts by Chirrut’s voice again from where he sat. “Baze?”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“As enthralling as the sight of this is,” Baze choked on another laugh, suddenly and painfully reminded of Chirrut’s fading vision, “did you want to talk about it?”  
  
Chirrut’s words were calm, and after a few heartbeats Baze sighed. He raised a hand to rub at his arm again, then brought his fingertips together and squeezed them meditatively. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rippled with suppressed pain.  
  
“I was just . . . remembering. When I grew up. The sand sickness, the sight stealer. The wet death.” He paused, swallowing, fingers rubbing again, steady, his knuckles tight with pressure.”So many died. My. My family—“ He broke off, shaking his head. “For us—here, at the temple—it’s so easy. A prick with a needle, treatment a few months apart. No fuss, just business. And there . . . the death in the sand that would steal us away, bury us in the dunes to scatter our bones among the kyber . . .” He mimed a puff of sand dissipating on the wind, harmless. His voice grew softer. “So why did they have to die, Chirrut? Was it their choice? Were they forced? Did they . . . just not know?” He turned his head, looked toward his friend in the cloying darkness.  
  
Chirrut’s eyes shone, pale, not yet fully clouded but getting there, bright as pools in pitted desert stone. Baze could feel him looking, even though his eyes seemed otherworldly, far away. “I don’t know. It seems unfair.” He shifted, looking up, eyes glittering with the motion. “The Force is around us. The Force binds us. But the Force does not give to us equally.” Chirrut’s hand rose to touch his temple. “Or take from us equally.”

Baze shifted uneasily, but Chirrut continued. “So that’s why we give. Why we guard and protect. Why we serve. We, too, are the will of the Force. Not just chaos and pain and loss and sickness, but light and health and life.” Chirrut’s voice repeated their long-familiar mantra: “I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. And I will fear nothing, for all is as the Force wills it.”  
  
Baze nodded, silent. Chirrut fell silent, too, then shifted to be sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Baze. The point of warmth comforted him more than words could say, even as Chirrut said softly, “You know all this, Baze. You know it better than I do.”  
  
Baze nodded, throat suddenly tight, breathing deeply in and out to loosen it. After a moment he said lowly, “Yes. And—they’re still gone, Chirrut.”  
  
Chirrut looked at him, then out over the city. “. . . Yes. They are.”  
  
They sat together like that, in the space of hope and healing, sadness and loss, truth and painful truth, until peace stole over them and Chirrut broke the spell by yawning. He stood and stretched, his staff whisking around his feet as he checked his footing. “Ready, my friend?”  
  
Baze looked up at the dark curve of the planet one more time, turning in time, turning in space, experiencing both dark and light. In balance. He stood fluidly, then looked back at his friend. “Yes, Chirrut. I’m ready.”


End file.
